by Kate Archer
Laughter overtook the table and Cassandra could not help but join in. It was spoken of widely that Lady Montague continued to fire off letters from Yorkshire and had taken to blaming Lady Blakeley for any slippage in her influence. Everybody was perfectly well aware that it was the dowager duchess that Lady Montague ought to complain of, though she did not dare it.
“Let us all be merry this evening, for I have ordered a sinful amount of wine,” Lady Blakeley said before sitting down.
After the “hear, hears” had died down, Lord Burke turned to Cassandra. “Might I depend upon our friendship to be so bold as to skip the pleasantries and ask you directly how you’ve fared through this trial?”
Cassandra smiled. Lord Burke could always be depended upon to say something surprising. Further, it was almost a relief that she might speak honestly, rather than engage in another of the conversational minuets she had so often been having since her return to town.
“I am both gratified to be exonerated and furious at the gentlemen who caused my need to be exonerated,” she said. “I suppose I should be more gracious and claim all is forgiven, but I have discovered I am not so gracious.”
Lord Burke nodded. “It is a hard thing to forgive, especially considering that it all might not have turned out so well had the dowager and the Regent not stepped in.”
“While I lived at my father’s estate in disgrace, I had decided not to marry and would run the estate myself after he passed. I was to become a hermit in Surrey and ignore all the fanciful rumors of Miss Knightsbridge. So you see, I was determined to survive, if nothing else.”
“And now?” Lord Burke asked.
“Now, I cannot claim to know,” Cassandra said.
“I am certain you are weary of gossip; however, I think you should be aware that there has been some talk about Hampton,” Lord Burke said.
Cassandra froze. “What sort of talk?” she said slowly.
“They say he is smitten with Miss Knightsbridge. What else could account for him muscling his way into every drawing room these past weeks to proclaim your innocence and his own guilt? Then, his father was overheard to say you could not be blamed for rejecting him.” Lord Burke laughed and said, “Apparently, his father will not cease informing people that his son is an idiot, that is why the duke does not blame you for turning his son down.”
Cassandra took in a deep and slow breath. Carefully, she said, “As always, the gossip is invented. Lord Hampton has not asked me such a question.”
Lord Burke appeared thoughtful. “I had almost believed it true. I’ve known Hampton a very long time and he was most in earnest in proclaiming your innocence, even to me. I told him I had no need to be convinced and then joked that he did a fine job of looking regretful for what he’d done and would be forgiven by the ton in no time. He looked dark as thunder over it. I had begun to wonder.”
“Surely, if the lord had ever an inclination to speak to me,” Cassandra said, “his motive would only have been to assuage his guilty conscience.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Burke said. “Though, you might put aside that reason if he chooses to speak now or in future, as you no longer have need of rescue.”
Cassandra had only nodded at that idea. Lord Burke had gone on to entertain with more stories of his cook. She worked hard to be attentive and amused at the idea that he’d survived a week on chestnuts in all their various forms—one day roasted, another day in a sauce, a third day ground into flour and made into a pancake.
For all her smiles, though, her thoughts kept drifting back to Lord Hampton. Could it be true that he held real feelings for her? Could it be possible that she could ever forgive him enough to return those feelings?
It was ridiculous. Of course she could not. Even if she could, she had no wish to become a duchess. She’d always said so.
*
Cassandra spent a rather fretful night, at once willing herself to sleep and getting up and lighting a candle. She would gaze out the window at nothing but the flickering of a nearby streetlamp valiantly doing battle with the darkness. Seeing nothing, she would blow out the candle and attempt sleep again.
After Lady Blakeley had claimed Lord Hampton heartsick and Lord Burke told her of the rumors of his affections, it had been impossible not to think of it. She’d spent the remainder of the dinner with her thoughts in two places at once—both attending to the people around her and considering Lord Hampton.
Alone in her bedchamber, she had no need to attend to anybody and was left to herself. Lord Hampton remained still two gentlemen before her, the one who had nearly ruined her and the handsome and educated man that had existed so pleasantly in her imagination.
Cassandra knew she ought to cease examining her confused feelings, as it would only lead to more confusion. She ought to dismiss him forevermore. Were there not a hundred pleasant gentlemen in town? Might she not meet and marry one who had never caused her harm?
Of course she must. Not this season, but perhaps the next. At the end of this season she would return to Surrey and fire off her guns at her leisure and she would not care who said what about it. She would demand of herself that she stop brooding and wondering. She would compel herself to be happy again. She would take herself back to the time before she’d come to town. Life had been simple and enjoyable before she’d ever heard of the dukes’ pact.
At breakfast, Cassandra had felt it her duty to inform the dowager that her grandson had briefly made an appearance at the Blakeley’s dinner. She said it, including all she had said to the lord, as quickly as possible and then waited uncomfortably to see how the dowager would react to it. The lady had been so kind to her, but Cassandra’s disdain of her grandson must wear thin.
Much to her surprise, the dowager had laughed. “I could have told Lady Blakeley it was too soon,” she said.
Amidst Cassandra’s consternation over the idea that time alone was to patch it all up, she said, “I must be honest, and I hope I do not offend, but I do not think time will heal this particular wound. In deference to you, I wish I could claim otherwise.”
“Time? No, I would not think so,” the dowager said. “Rather, it is penance. I cannot claim to know what would be enough to appease your well-earned anger but did not think the prince’s footmen gambit would quite suffice. Though, it was most amusing to see. As for my grandson ambushing you in Lady Blakeley’s drawing room, that was doomed to fail.”
Cassandra did not answer, as she did not have a satisfactory answer. She could not imagine what penance the lord might do that she would deem sufficient. What could he possibly say or do that would wipe clean the anger and hurt that still roiled inside her?
“You are not to worry over it, my dear,” the dowager said. “My grandson has dug himself a deep hole and we will just see if he can crawl out of it. You should only think of enjoying yourself while he attempts to scramble up the sides of this ridiculous pit of his own making.”
Cassandra could not say that her feelings were any more clear than they had been through a sleepless night, but she could at least be soothed by the dowager’s views. The lady was stalwart in her defense of Miss Knightsbridge, though it must cost her dearly to throw down her own blood in such a manner.
After breakfast, they had made their way to the drawing room and settled down to Racine’s considerate rounds of service. They were never to be without cakes or biscuits. George was delighted, May was hopeful, and the two dogs divided their time between lurking round the tea tray, lounging on the far sofa, and racing to the windows at the slightest provocation. Should they hear the front doors being opened, they rushed headlong to the drawing room door to greet the unwary arrival.
Sybil was the first of those visitors to arrive, though she was not quite as unwary as anybody else. She had spent so much time in the house that she was quite good friends with George and May and happily allowed them to escort her into the room.
As she entered, Cassandra noted she carried a bouquet of flowers.
After curtsying
to the dowager, Sybil said, “These were left on your doorstep, Lady Marksworth. They are addressed to Cassandra.”
“Heavens,” Lady Marksworth said. “Now we are to be pummeled by posies. I would not be surprised if it contains yet another invitation.”
Cassandra colored. She had grown tired of being celebrated and wished the ton would turn their faces to another subject. Worse, the flowers were red roses. There really was no need for such strong feelings—she had been lied about, now the truth was known. That was all and that must be sufficient.
“I suppose,” Lady Marksworth said, “that as a responsible guardian I ought to read the card. Though, no girl should be more trusted to manage such a thing than Cassandra.”
Sybil handed Lady Marksworth the card and crossed the room to sit by Cassandra.
Cassandra pretended indifference while her aunt unfolded the note. She could not, however, maintain her indifference in the face of Lady Marksworth’s expression upon reading it.
“I see,” she said softly, handing the note to the dowager.
The dowager glanced at it and smiled. “It is from my grandson, and not overly worded. It only says: ‘I am sorry.’ As he should be, mightily.”
Cassandra shrugged, as if she could not care one way or the other. She was in some part relieved that nobody mentioned the color of the roses. Did he really mean to press his suit? Why could not he go away, at least for a while, and allow her feelings to settle?
“Will you walk with me to the window?” Sybil asked her.
Everybody in the room, including Cassandra, knew the request for what it was. A simple escape so that the two young friends might have a private talk together. Lady Marksworth and the dowager pretended ignorance and Cassandra’s aunt helpfully began asking the dowager about various investments she had heard spoken of.
Cassandra rose and locked arms with Sybil as they casually made their way to the windows. Only George and May appeared to be the slightest interested in their progress.
Once they had put a distance between themselves and Lady Marksworth and the dowager, Sybil said softly, “I would have you look across the road.”
Cassandra pulled back the curtain and peered out.
Aside from the usual comings and goings on the street, there was one remarkable sight—Lord Hampton sat on Lord Dalton’s stoop like any street boy might have done when needing a rest.
Cassandra let the curtain drop. “What on earth does he do, just sitting there?”
Sybil suppressed a giggle. “Well,” she said, “let us see. He sits across from your house and he’s sent red roses and begged your forgiveness. I would say the lord has made his feelings known.”
“Does he really wish to cause talk, sitting there like a servant across from my house? Has he not already caused enough talk about me?”
“He is causing a great deal of talk about himself,” Sybil said. “It was spoken of last evening, before this latest gambit. It is said he is hopelessly in love with Miss Knightsbridge, but she will not have him. It was even said, though I hardly give it credit, that he approached you before Lady Blakeley’s dinner and was firmly rebuffed.”
Cassandra colored. “That part is true, and I suppose a compliment to the ability of the English to ensure that no news goes unadvertised. I did not wish to encounter him and urged him to go, which he did.”
“Goodness,” Sybil said, “and now he does watch the house like a soldier on guard duty.”
“It hardly matters to me what he does,” Cassandra said. “He might guard the Tower of London for all it signifies to me.”
Sybil glanced up at her friend. “If he had not been a part of what happened to you, would you look upon him differently?”
“Well, I would say, that is, as you know, I never had a wish to become a duchess. For one thing.”
“Putting that aside,” Sybil said, “if he had never injured you and was always to be a viscount, what would you think?”
“The idea is so far removed from what is true that I had not thought of what I would think. Why do you ask me, Sybil?”
Sybil bit her lip and said quietly, “We did so wish to marry for love, Cass. For all his faults, I believe he loves you. Truly loves you. While I, myself, could never forgive what those gentlemen have done, it strikes me that you are of a different temperament.”
“How can you say so?” Cassandra said, for lack of anything better to say while her thoughts were in such a jumble.
Sybil pulled the curtain back and peeked at Lord Hampton in his vigil on Lord Dalton’s stoop. “I say so because of that,” she said. “He’s making himself a laughingstock and I do not think Lord Hampton is accustomed to making himself the butt of jokes. It seems to me that he no longer cares for humiliation, he has a loftier goal in mind.”
“Ridiculous,” Cassandra said. Though she said it, she could not deny that something stirred in her. The lord had been forced to dress as a footman, but he was not forced to appear a lunatic sitting in front of her house.
Sybil was right—he was making himself a laughingstock. It would not be an hour before the gossipers got hold of the idea. One person would pass by in a carriage and off the report would fly over the city like a hawk dropping mice from its maw.
“He is entirely ridiculous,” Sybil said, “though I wonder if you hold it against him.”
“Sybil,” Cassandra said, “you have just said yourself that you would not forgive.”
“True, but my family has a long history of maintaining feuds until every party involved is dead. For all that, though, I will admit to having struggled against Lord Lockwood’s apologies—there have been so many of them! He is only a friendly acquaintance; I cannot say what I should do if there was something more there.”
“I did not say there was anything more than friendship between me and Lord Hampton,” Cassandra corrected.
“No, you did not say it,” Sybil said gravely. “And yet, I think it.”
Cassandra had no answer to that, so crossed the room to May and gave her a pet. She felt uncomfortably questioned and examined and at least her mastiff had nothing to inquire about.
Chapter Nineteen
As far as Cassandra could tell, Lord Hampton finally decamped from Lord Dalton’s steps sometime after sunset. Throughout the day she’d found little opportunities to casually peek out a window, and there he’d sat. She’d even seen Lord Lockwood stop on his horse and been waved away. Lord Dalton had come out of his house and appeared to argue with his friend, before marching back inside and slamming the door.
She supposed she must now believe that he held a real regard for her. The question she could not firmly answer was what her own feelings might be. She was torn between her heart and her head.
Her heart, if she were to finally be honest with herself, was drawn to Lord Hampton. Had always been, really. Her clear heart, that did not give quarter to the stings of insults and the pricks of wrongs, beat faster for him. From that first moment of seeing him on his horse as he approached the Bergrams’ ball, to their rather uncomfortable start, to the various dinners in which they better understood each other. He stirred feelings in her that no other gentleman had.
If only those feelings were not intertwined with her feelings over what he and his friends had done to her. Her head appeared to be the master of those particular feelings and her head called her heart deranged for even entertaining any idea of Lord Hampton. Her head, while clear in its own way, could not ignore the stings and pricks. Like an old wound, she was healed on the outside but still ached on the inside.
She would be ridiculous to countenance him! Her head railed against looking the fool for giving way to him. In truth, considering him would not confer any favor on either one of them. If she accepted him, convincing herself that she had forgiven him, would not ugly feelings resurface sometime in future? Would she not experience some little irritation and find all those feelings flooding back?
No matter. He’d thoroughly debased himself by sitting outside of her h
ouse all the day long and got nothing for his trouble. She suspected she had delivered the message of her intent quite clearly. He would take her at her word and make himself scarce going forward.
If he suffered at all, it would not last. A man like that would never suffer long. There were too many who wished to entertain such a gentleman that he would soon be diverted and wonder why he had ever thought to pursue a lady who wished to have nothing to do with him.
He would likely consider it a lucky escape.
Cassandra could not ignore the sense of disappointment that settled over her upon imagining the lord walking away, never to turn his head back.
She sighed heavily.
Lady Marksworth and the dowager played a quiet game of cards at the table nearby. Cassandra noted the dowager’s glance.
She smiled and said, “I am only tired and think that even so I might have trouble sleeping. I wonder if I might take a glass of wine and retire?”
Lady Marksworth nodded. Before the footman had time to fetch it, the dowager said to him, “Make it Canary, and a large one. That is the most soothing, I find.”
The footman did as he was bid, and quite a full glass of Canary was brought to her. The dowager nodded her approval and Jimmy blushed up to his ears, always pleased and embarrassed when the dowager acknowledged him.
Cassandra suppressed a smile. Every servant in the house had fallen prey to the dowager’s charm and was determined to carry out her instructions to the letter. They were at once in awe of her and fond of her, as she was in the habit of showing her approbation generously.
Cassandra drank the wine rather more quickly than was her usual habit, hoping the effects of it would send her to sleep.
She rose and bid her aunt and the dowager good night.
“Sleep well, my dear,” Lady Marksworth said.
After she’d left the room, Lady Marksworth said, “I do not know what is to come of all of this.”
